


Ganconer

by Eshusplayground



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Body Image, Claustrophobia, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:24:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshusplayground/pseuds/Eshusplayground
Summary: Trigger warnings for body issues, emotional abuse, implied rape, and claustrophobia





	Ganconer

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for body issues, emotional abuse, implied rape, and claustrophobia

As soon as I catch a whiff of you, I know you will be mine. Your desperate yearning to be loved calls to me, a siren’s song. There is no way I can resist. I must have you.

I whisper to your mind just below the surface of your jumbled thoughts.

“This way, dear,” I say in that familiar voice you are compelled to obey. Feelings stir in your heart, rich and tender. I can’t wait to devour them all.

You hesitate, unsure. You consider asking the others who travel with you if they can hear me. Then pain and rage and sorrow as you recall holding a dying woman in your arms.

“I miss you so much,” I say in her voice.

You follow my voice into the darkness. Your mortal companions don’t even notice you’re gone.

You push through tangled roots and dead leaves. Thorns tear into the fabric of your garments. You cry out to your mother, say you are coming for her. Longing and fear, razor-sharp, cut the air just like the barbs that cut your flesh. Beneath it, I can almost taste your love, thick and sweet. It takes all I have not to devour you right then and there.

You find your way to my lair, a sagging old hut made of mud and twigs. Through the glamour I weave on you, it looks like a cozy stone cottage.

For a moment, just a few blinks, you are afraid. I call out to you again, this time in the voice you hold most dear (“Mom? Mom?”). You push your fear aside and rush into my home. You are a butterfly caught in my web, and you don’t even know it. I will take my time sucking you dry. Just a little bit longer, then I can begin.

“Henry!” you shout, over and over until your throat is raw and your voice barely above a whisper. Your mounting panic hangs heavy and hot around you. You’re going to be delicious.

You look in every nook and cranny, but you cannot find the one you seek. As you stand there looking around, wondering how you got here, I know my spell of bewilderment has done its work.

You are all alone and utterly lost.

Now the fun begins.

_Branches clawed at their clothes as they walked beneath the hazy gray twilight. There was no answer when they called out her name, their shouts swallowed by the forest._

“ _You’d best stick together,” Rumpelstiltskin had warned them. “This place isn’t what it seems.”_

_They came to a clearing they’ve never seen before yet felt familiar. The ground was littered with the dry, shrunken corpses of small woodland creatures. Twigs and tiny bones crunched beneath their feet. Worms crawled from the empty sockets of bleached skulls._

_(“Emma, look. These are our footprints.”)_

_Just on beyond edge of their vision, shadows seemed to move of their own accord._

I prepare you for consumption by first clipping away the tenuous barriers separating dream from memory from reality. With all laid bare and nothing to hold on to, I can take you apart and consume you at my leisure.

I start with your childhood, all the better to erode the defenses which grew over your years, so few compared to the years of our kind. I take the shape of the one you love and fear most.

You cling to me the way you clung to her as an infant. You say nothing, yet the meaning is clear: I love you please don’t go. The bargain is struck: I shall love, and you shall obey.

I make you my doll. I dress you up in vines and berries and leaves. The glamour makes you see gowns of silk and satin bedecked with gold and silver precious gems.

I tell you how beautiful you are, how proud I am of you. You bask in my words as if they are sunshine though they are hollow as sparrow bones.

Your joy and eagerness to please are heady, intoxicating. I drink them in sip by sip.

It’s a pity it cannot last.

Now the one who once held you close and said everything you ever wanted her to say finds something wrong with all that you are. You do all in your power to please me, but nothing is ever enough. First you smile too much and then not enough. First you cover up too much so you look like a little girl. Then you show too much and look like a whore. First you hold your head too high—who do you think you are? Then you keep your gaze glued to the floor—what kind of queen can’t look at her subjects?

I kiss away your tears, savoring your shame. I nibble on the bitter rinds of your self-hatred. I tell you I love you, and you promise to be good.

But not good enough, never good enough. My complaints are never-ending. Stop sulking, sit up straight, are you a queen or a commoner? You’re doing this on purpose aren’t you (“I’m trying, mother.”)? Stay out of the sun you’re starting to get dark like your father. Do something with that hair. You’re too thin; you need to eat more. Stop eating so much, or you’ll get fat. Why won’t you just let me help you (“I’m doing my best, mother.”)?

I tell you that I do this because I love you and want what’s best for you. You say, “I know.”

I let you fall into my bosom. Your love and guilt seep into me, and I let it fill me up. I grin as I hold you close and stroke your hair.

You are mine.

_She was naked when they found her._

_She lay in a corner of the crumbling mud house, wearing nothing but dirt and leaves and dead vines. Her hair tangled and knotted all the way down to her waist (“Jesus, how long was she stuck here?”). Sallow skin stretched across brittle bones. There was dirt beneath her jagged fingernails. Her eyes were open, but there was no one inside to see._

“ _What the hell happened to her?” Emma asked._

_Snow cocooned her in her blanket before Henry could see._

I let you marinate as I decide which form to take next.

For a moment, I consider becoming the one who taught you those clever mortal tricks. How desperate you would be to prove yourself worthy of all I would teach. I could spin golden promises of freedom and happiness then mock you for your stupidity when you reach out and grasp only ashes. I would drink the bitterness of your disappointment and self-loathing.

I think about taking the shape of the boy who had only kind words and sweet kisses for you. I imagine making you relive that moment when he was snuffed out like a candle before your eyes. I could make him do to you what the man you called king and husband did. Your horror and shame would be crisp and tart like one of your apples.

I have something far more satisfying in store for you.

My glamour takes shape, and you see four stone walls enclosing you. You’re uncomfortable in small spaces. The walls always seem too close and getting closer, ready to squeeze you to a pulp if you stand still too long. Your breath shortens with your rising panic.

From the darkness, I call your name in the voice you hate almost as much as you hate yourself.

My voice is soft, but my words are whips of flame.

“You killed my father. Father was a good man and a great king, and you killed him. How could you do something so horrible? Why would you do that to me?”

You open your mouth to protest. The next accusation flies from my lips before you can answer.

“Why did you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you? You said you loved me. You said you wanted us to be a family, but you lied. You always lie.”

You scream your hatred to drown out your regret. I gobble up both with equal pleasure.

I continue to speak.

“Is this about Daniel (“Shut up shut up shut up!”)? It’s not my fault. Your mother made me. I was just a child. How could you hate a child? I thought you were good, but I was wrong. How could I not see how evil you were?”

On and on I go, recounting all the things you’ve said and done. Every word flays away another layer of you. Rage, pain, sorrow, despair. I gorge myself on each and every one. I find the core of affection nestled deep inside like an egg. I crack you open and suck out its yolk.

Before long—as my kind measures time—you are weeping and exposed and begging to be punished.

You have fed me well, so I oblige.

You submit to every humiliation I devise. You endure every torment I inflict. I tell you that this is no more than you deserve. You nod your head and say, “Thank you.”

I hold out a piece of Turkish Delight as empty of substance as the air I conjured it from. I pet you as you eat it from my hand.

You will never escape.

I smile.

_The person who was once Regina Mills (“Mom? Mom! What happened to her?”) floated through the ether._

_(“This can’t be right. She’s good now. Good always wins. Always. It’s not supposed to be like this.”)_

_Shards of dream and memory (“We can save her. All she needs is True Love’s Kiss, right? Right?”) shimmered like so many pieces of a broken mirror._

_(“I don’t understand. Why isn’t it working?”)_

_Specks of light surrounded by the void …_

_(“You have to help her. I know she did bad things, but she didn’t mean it. She was hurt and scared. She’s really sorry. I know she is. Please bring her back. Please.”)_

_Small and helpless someone snuggling against a steady heartbeat, clutching a pinky finger in its little fist …_

_A tiny handprint in a bright pink field For Mommy (“I’m so sorry, Mommy.”) …_

_Light that was once so close (“Please come back. I don’t care what you did. Just please, please come back.”) drifting further and further out of reach …_

_Tears falling in the dark (“I’ll fix it, Mom, I promise.”) …_

_I love you (“I love you.”)._

Your hardened shell stripped away, you are delightfully exposed.

Your soul is a cornucopia. Rich, bittersweet heartache. How it will flow into me as I melt it down and swallow it up. Rage so bold and spicy like the flesh of a manticore. How it will quicken me as I chew it up grind it to nothing. Hope like a pixie’s wing: beautiful and delicate. How it will shimmer and sparkle as I break it.

There is nothing you can do.

I spin an enchantment to make my lair resemble the place you call home. Your senses recognize its distinctive sights and sounds and smells, the feel of its air. Beneath the glamour, moss creeps down the walls while worms and beetles crawl through the cracks. The strange garments you wore in the mortal world are naught but tatters now.

There is nowhere you can go.

_Snow came every other day to comb her hair. David always offered to go with her, but her heart—_

_(don’t think about it don’t mention it “Out, damn’d spot! out I say!”)_

— _something inside her told her this was something she had to do alone._

_It had taken weeks to work through the knots and tangles. Weeks of careful, painstaking care to be able to rake her bare fingers through it without snagging them._

_Regina had always had such lovely hair. So dark, so thick, so alive. Her locks twisted like vines around Snow’s fingers. Back home, Regina’s hair had seemed to writhe like snakes whenever she had been agitated, with only flimsy pins to keep them from striking out._

_Once a week she washed Regina’s hair and tried not to remember a time when Regina would have allowed her to do so. A time when they had been true friends and she was just Regina. Regina who was strong and smart and brave and everything she had ever wanted to be. Regina whose eyes gleamed with joy or rage or madness, so unlike this husk with her empty gaze._

_On those days, tears would leak from Snow’s eye, and she would imagine that shampoo had found its way there._

_David had remarked that she could have saved herself the trouble and simply cut it. She had not been able to explain why, but the idea of hacking off Regina’s hair had set like a stone in her gut. Even when Regina was to be executed, she had not ordered her hair shorn though that had been the custom then._

_Before she left, she would replace the wilted flowers with fresh ones. This week, she chose gardenias. They had always been Regina’s favorite._

I have eaten you almost to the bone, yet there is still more of you to feast on. Every morsel is an explosion of delectable emotions, and the more I eat, the more I want. I can barely control myself, but I must if these last bits of you will be as satisfying as the first.

I reach inside you as you dream, sifting through the desires you keep hidden even from yourself. Shall I take the form of the phantom lover who haunts your dreams? She of the bright, striking eyes and hair like spun gold? The one for whom you would catch ablaze with even the barest whisper of a touch? (“Emma…”).

Maybe later. For now there is too much fear and shame wrapped around it, too much confusion and doubt. I search for something safer, something you would not resist. Then I find it hiding in plain sight. It’s surprising how I almost miss it.

You have always wanted to be a mother. Even at your most hateful and bloodthirsty, you have wanted someone to nurture and protect, someone to receive all the love you would give. In many ways, it’s all you’ve ever wanted. More than you wanted the young man who was taken from you, more than you wanted vengeance against the one who betrayed your secret.

So I give you what you desire.

I take your longing and yearning and give it shape with twigs and leaves, briars and brambles. You pull the tiny bundle to your bosom, cooing with delight as tiny droplets of red seep from your flesh. You kiss what you imagine to be its forehead, the thorns cutting into your lips.

I suck on the meat of motherly love, sweet and tender as it melts in my mouth.

_Every day after the end of Emma’s shift, they went to the hospital to read to her._

_Dr. Hopper had said that talking to her could help, that the sound of their voices could give her something to return to. At first they had tried to talk about how their day had gone, but their words had felt like chalk in their mouths._

_It had been a novel assigned to Henry’s English class that had started them on books. Saying words written by others had come more easily than chit-chat about the inanities of small town living. The words on the pages had held more weight than their feeble attempts at small talk had allowed._

_In the time since they’d started, Henry had sprung up like a fir tree, and his voice had dropped a few octaves. Sparse dark fuzz grew from his upper lip. He was already taller than both his mothers (“I never imagined something so small could have so much inside.”). The future, aliens, and distant stars captivated Henry’s imagination now. There had been that time when for six months straight everything he read was Star Wars. During his few ventures into fantasy—he was working through_ The Dark Tower _now—he steered clear of fairy tales._

_As for_ that _book, Henry had tossed it into the fireplace of 108 Mifflin Street. Emma had watched it as if to make sure it burned. They had held each other as they both wept. It was Mother’s Day._

I change my shape again and become what you hold most dear. You open your arms and I fall into you. You hold me, drawing me close, stroking my hair. You call me your prince and press a kiss to the crown of my head. I lap up the joy in your tears.

Everything that would have once earned a scolding now makes you smile. I shatter all the dishes just to hear the noise as they break. You pick up the pieces even as they cut into your bare feet. I consume every confection you once forbade. You clean up my sick and restore my rotted teeth. I draw images of blood and death on the walls of my bedroom. You pat my head and say it’s lovely. I gorge myself on your devotion.

I am a never-ending string of give me give me give me. Give me this toy. Give me some food. Give me a story. Give me this and give me that. So you give, give, give, asking nothing in return.

You are overjoyed to simply be with me. You do not notice how there is less and less of you.

I find a dead sparrow, its lifeless body crawling with maggots. When I hand it to you, I say it’s for the best mother in the world. Your smile shines like the dawn. I inhale the affection and gratitude in the kiss you place on my cheek.

There is no glamour on the bird.

_Henry had started running away again. It had taken four hours to find him the first time. He’d been sagging against the trunk of Regina’s apple tree, one hand clutching an apple with a single bite taken out of it. Emma had almost grounded him on the spot, but when she’d seen the apple, she’d changed her mind (“I used to think these were poisoned. I was so stupid.”)._

_The search had gone from morning until evening the second time Henry had run away. That time, he’d disappeared to his old room on Mifflin Street. He had been clutching a photo of Regina holding him in her arms and smiling down at him as he beamed up at her (“I just wanted her to be good. I didn’t want her to—”)._

_Archie had tried to explain it as Henry not knowing how to reconcile how he felt about his mother as a child and his current understanding of her as a young man (“Everyone keeps saying I was just a kid, but it doesn’t change what I did. You don’t abandon family, Archie. I abandoned Mom. If I stood by her, if I believed in her, she’d be safe.”). When Emma had asked what she could say or do to convince him otherwise, Archie only shook his head. Emma had never felt so helpless._

_Then Snow had found the spell book in Henry’s room. That had led a full-on screaming match with Henry and Emma doing most of the screaming (“I’m doing the best I can, Henry! What more do you want from me!”) as Snow and David tried to maintain the peace (“None of you ever gave a shit about her! You wanted this! That’s why you won’t do a damn thing! That’s why you’re trying to stop me!”). When he’d run away (again), Henry had slammed the door hard enough to rattle the hinges (“FUCK YOU!!! I don’t need you! I’m gonna fix Mom, and then we’re going home!”)._

_They’d found him sleeping in the vault beneath the mausoleum on a bed made of Regina’s old Evil Queen gowns (“I’m sorry, Emma. For how I acted and for what I said. I just—I miss her. I want her back.”)._

Alas, as your kind would say, all good things must come to an end.

The feast is almost over, for there is little of you left to feed on. I have plumbed the depths of your dreams and memories and carved out the meat of your passions, your hopes, your fears.

You were exquisite.

The kaleidoscope of tastes are still fresh on my palate. Love and yearning. Rage and despair. Heartache and sorrow. If you are the least bit aware, I thank you for giving me such succulent sustenance. It will be many of your years before I feed this well again.

There is no need for the glamour now. Gnawed to the bone, what is left of you is beyond the reach of your senses. I split you open and draw out the marrow.

Having eaten you away to nothing, I leave you to the void.

_The being once known as Regina Mills drifted through nothingness._

_Now aware of itself, it became an I._

_(“I can’t believe I’m doing this. God, I hope Henry’s right.”_

_“Be careful with her, Emma.”_

_"Don’t worry, Henry. I will.”)_

_The I occupied a location in space. Here._

_A pulse of light above. There._

_Now, a choice: Here or There?_

_"There,” chose the I._

_Then movement. Up._

_A glance at the There that was once Here created a When: Then and Now._

_The I wondered, “What happens when the light becomes Here and Now?”_

_(“Hey, Emma, I think I figured it out. About mom. She’s still in there. I know she is. She’s just…lost. She needs someone to help guide her back. I think … I think it has to be you.”_

_“Me? Why?”_

_“Because everyone saw her as the Evil Queen, even—even me. But to you she was always just Regina. What do you think?”_

_“It’s worth a shot, kid.”_

_“Great! Oh, um, Emma, can you ride a horse?”_

_“Can I_ what _?”)_

_As the I traveled toward the light, flashes from another life, another I._

_… “Did you see me, Daddy?” “That was beautiful, sweetheart.”_

_… “Mother!”_

_… “I just want to be happy.”_

_… “No matter what they tell you, no matter what you think, I do love you.”_

_… “Let me die as Regina.”_

_“Regina,” thought the I, “I am Regina.”_

_In an instant, the light that was There was now Here, inside. The light inside Regina throbbed deep and strong. Its heat and weight felt familiar._

_(“Here’s the thing. I know I tell myself that I’m only doing this for Henry, but the truth is … the truth is … I guess the truth’s gonna have to wait until you get back.”)_

_The light gave Regina a choice: yes or no?_

_“Yes,” Regina chose._

_The light inside shined brighter and brighter. So bright, so bright!_

_And then— (“Regina?” “MOM!!!”)_


End file.
